


Gravity Well

by gummycola



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, Science Fiction, description of injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:48:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29321922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gummycola/pseuds/gummycola
Summary: Captain Alfred Jones may have put himself into a situation his intrepid navigator cannot save him from.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Gravity Well

Ships died kind of like people did, sometimes.

The lights turned off first—a blackout. Jarring. All power was pulled for the most vital functions. Temperature regulation was second highest priority. _Air_ was first.

It was starting to get even colder.

Alfred gripped the mylar blanket tightly, and waited.

* * *

“That’s the third ping—still no signal.”

“I can see it now—one more time, Art.”

He was too far from the base ship for the sigh to come over clearly—it was a mere whisper of sound, yet it carried so much frustration. “Fourth attempt at contact commencing now.”

Alfred noted the terminal on his left indicating it had picked up Arthur’s command. The progress bar filled, the ping went out—bounced the few meters from his vessel to the damaged ship. Pilot and navigator waited, silent.

“Nothing, Alfred. It’s powered still, but the emergency broad—hang on!”

Arthur’s feed cut out abruptly, and static filled the cramped cabin. Beeps and chitters, Arthur would decode those. Then a message in the Universal tongue—

“Two. Citizens. Unhurt. One. Pilot. Hurt. Rescue, evacuate, rescue, evacuate, rescue—” The voice cut out with a wet gasp, and Alfred winced. The beeps resumed, the message beginning to repeat, and Alfred finished his approach, weak lights searching the disabled citizen transport for a safe entry point.

“I decoded the rest and scanned the ship. There are no signs of life Alfred—absolutely no vitals. _No one is alive on that ship anymore._ The message is over twenty-two hours old—”

“It’s a Tango-Tango-495-Sierra-Alpha. Pull up the details and tell me if the hatch on starboard bow is compatible.”

“There are Ros ships approximately 30 kilometers away. Return to base immediately.” Arthur replied with finality, already sending return orders to the navigation computer. Alfred swiped them away disinterestedly, readying his ship for boarding.

“It’s a civ transport, they won’t care. If the hatch fits, I’m—”

“You don’t know what they could be after—Alfred, the ship’s oxygen supplies are critical. The vent system could fail any second.”

“All the more reason to make this fast.” Alfred said with a grin, sliding his helmet into place and pulling himself through the narrow opening.

* * *

A single Sulphur lamp lit a cramped common area in disarray. Alfred pulled himself through it with the straps hanging overhead, the gravity system long dead, if the ship had ever had one. Arthur’s voice resounded inside his helmet.

“You’ll likely find the bodies starboard and aft. Look for a door with a red square marking. It’s a sort of panic room.” His tone indicated he would not be speaking to Alfred voluntarily for a long, _long_ time.

“I appreciate your optimism.” Alfred joked. There was no reply.

The common area had two exits. Aft to the ‘panic room,’ forward to what Alfred assumed would be the controls. “I’m moving forward—if I can hook you to their computer, maybe we can fix the ship.” Alfred opened the closer door, and a body floated directly into him.

“Why are you screaming? Captain Jones, status, immediately—”

“I didn’t _scream._ The pilot—he’s—ah—”

A pair of hollow, near-translucent eyes opened before him. The stranger’s face creased in grief. “Son. Wife.” He said in Universal. “Rescue. Evacuate.”

“I will. Let me help you—” Alfred reached for him, but pulled his hand away when he saw the man’s condition. He couldn’t touch him, there was nothing to touch. How he could be alive—how could he be _alive?_

“Engine bad. Attempt fix, burn.” The man choked out. “Burn.”

* * *

“I ported you in—I’m going to the back.”

Alfred closed the pilot’s eyes—he really was dead this time. He pulled his way back across the common area and opened the door to the rear. There was no light in the narrow hallway before him. He clicked on the flashlight on his chest and began to move through the tight, dark space.

“There’s no hope for this engine.” Arthur reported. “But I might be able to pull a little power from your ship to keep the vents up. The oxygen supply is _critical_ , Alfred. Move fast.”

“I thought I’d take my time, actually.” Alfred teased. This hallway was longer than it looked—what kind of civ transport was this, with only three people on it? Or had there been more? Were there bodies behind these blank doors? His arms ached, cold seeping through his suit. Just a little further, he was sure of it. Was that a hint of red up ahead?

“What? _What?_ ” Arthur suddenly shouted, distressed. “No. No, no—no, that’s. Not possible.”

“Artie, you pulling my leg here? Not funny.”

There was no answer. Alfred had found the panic room, a tiny door at the very rear of the ship. His eyes fell on the darkened touchpad beside it. He swiped at it, but nothing happened. He suddenly realized how quiet it was.

“Arthur? There’s no power to the door. Can you help?”

“Return to your vessel and prepare your emergency kit. I am sending a rescue ship to your location. Immediately, Alfred.”

“Art—”

“There’s a short—there’s no power, not for the transport, and not for your ship. When I tried to divert power from the ship it—something happened, I don’t know.” The unflappable navigator had tears in his voice. Alfred felt his heart freeze up, and tried to steady his breathing. Every breath would count, now.

“The door—the _kid_ , Arthur—”

“I can’t open it!” Arthur screamed. “There’s no— _please_ , your oxygen tank, _please_ , it’s the only way—”

The panic room door opened.

* * *

“We’re going to be just fine. Just fine.” Alfred said, his breath coming in gasps. He cradled the wide-eyed boy to his chest—he looked just like his late mother, so small and pale and _cold_.

Alfred had spent time in high altitudes, getting used to the thin air, when he’d been in training on Earth. He could survive for a little while, on what was in the cabin, what was available through the open hatch back to the disabled ship they had escaped.

But he couldn’t survive long enough.

The boy touched his hand tentatively to the oxygen mask. Alfred pulled his fingers away gently. The rescue ship would get here in time, for him, and the mylar and Alfred’s body heat would keep him alive.

Arthur had turned off the comm, saving what tiny bits of energy he could. Or maybe he just couldn’t bare to speak to him anymore. Alfred didn’t blame him.

The exhausted boy closed his eyes and made himself cozy beneath the blanket, against Alfred’s chest. Alfred smiled. 

He didn’t feel so cold, suddenly. But it was so, so dark. Had the flashlight gone out? It would be so good to go to sleep too. So nice and warm and dark. To sleep. To float.

A very bright light filled the cabin as Alfred closed his eyes.


End file.
